The Resistance Man (Bruno Chief of Police 6)

through the air and her horse sprawling, one foreleg still trapped in one of the dozens of holes that rabbits had made.
    Skirting the burrows, he rode as fast as he dared to where Pamela lay, dreading what he might find as he jumped down from the saddle and bent over her still form, willing his ears not to hear the hideous screeching from her stricken mare. He felt the pulse at her neck and it was still beating. He didn’t dare to move her, fearing a broken neck. Her limbs were lying straight, and when he pinched the tendon above her knee her lower leg twitched. The spinal column was still functioning.
    He fumbled for his phone and rang Fabiola, who was supposed to be waiting for them with the horse van near the next house they were to check. Bruno told her what had happened and where he was.
    ‘I’m in the next valley but I’ll get there as soon as I can,’ she said. ‘Listen, Bruno, calm down. Call an ambulance right away. Above all don’t move Pamela.’
    Dully, feeling as if his mind was working slowly, he dialled 15, the number for medical emergencies, and found himself connected to Ahmed at the St Denis fire station, and was told they’d be there within fifteen minutes.
    ‘What’s that screaming?’ Ahmed asked, and when Bruno said it was her horse, he replied: ‘Shoot the poor bugger.’
    As he trudged back towards Bess, he realized that no sign of life had come from the house. Nobody could have ignoredthe dreadful noise that Bess was making, and his eyes filled with tears when he saw that Hector was standing over Pamela’s mare and tenderly nuzzling her, as if giving what comfort he could. Bess didn’t seem to notice. Her foreleg was still trapped inside the hole and the rest of her leg lay at a brutal angle. Her entire weight must have pivoted on the trapped hoof and snapped all the delicate bones. There was no way Bess’s leg could be saved, and she was an old horse.
    He didn’t give a damn if Murcoing and his sister were inside the house and alerted to flee as soon as they heard gunfire. He pulled his automatic from the holster on his belt and flicked off the safety catch. He slapped Hector’s rump to push him away, kneeled beside Bess and tried in vain to hold still her tossing head. He could barely think with the noise, but tried to remember the drill as he looked at this faithful horse on whom he had learned to ride. He drew an imaginary X from right ear to left eye, and right eye to left ear.
    Bess suddenly seemed to be looking at him and the thrashing of her head stopped for a moment. Aiming for the centre of the X he put the muzzle close to the mare’s forehead to avoid any chance of a ricochet and fired twice into the skull. That was the rule; if the first shot failed to penetrate the second one would. Bess’s great head jerked and then sank to the ground.
    The echo of the shots, so different from the sound of a shotgun, seemed to rock the air around him as he closed the safety catch, reholstered the weapon and went back to Pamela. He slipped the shotgun from his shoulder and took off his jacket to cover her. There was no movement on her face, no flickering of eyelids, but her hands were warm, her pulse still firm.
    He tried to remember how she had fallen. She had tumbled over Bess’s head, exactly as if turning a somersault. Thanks to the way she’d been galloping, her waist and knees had been bent and her head tucked low. That was the shape he remembered seeing as she turned through the air, rising almost slowly before she came down fast, her body still curved. Had she landed on her head or her back? He tried to remember. She had rolled once and again, then her limbs had gone loose and she’d sprawled. He closed his eyes and squeezed them tight, forcing the visual memory of her landing, but it had been too fast, too shocking to him. The exact way she had hit the ground was not clear in his mind.
    A sound came from behind him; Hector, stepping slowly, looking from Bess’s body to Bruno. He came another step, lowered his head and moved again, close to Bruno, shaking his head nervously. Bruno remained still until Hector brought his nostrils down to breathe on Bruno’s neck. Slowly, his hand stroking Hector’s neck, Bruno rose to his feet and mounted his horse.
    He turned Hector’s head away and trotted around the side of the isolated house to check the far side of the barn. It was open to the elements, no wall and no door. Half a dozen camper vans could have parked inside but